The ring delivered, Vine went home to plan the next move. That she must
leave Bromfield before the truth of Calvin’s marriage leaked out, she
did not so much as debate. There was an uncle in the wilds of Illinois.
Once she had visited him, with the result that the buffalo and Indian
frontier had receded some leagues farther to the west. A coal mining
town. She remembered that some adventurous investors dreamed of oil and
natural gas. There ought to be employment for an energetic, fairly well
educated girl who was accustomed to hard work.
Lavinia Larimore had not been blessed with an elastic nature, but in
moments of desperation she manifested something like the elasticity of
ivory. She could yield, yet show no after-trace of the yielding. By
night her plans were well on the way towards maturity. She would write
to her uncle, and wait for a reply before telling her parents of her
purpose.
She opened the small drawer of the secretary, only to discover that it
was bare of stamps. Her brother Theodore would be going to Ellen’s,
and the post office was not far out of his way. But Ted would ask
questions. No, she would wait for David Trench. He and his father
worked at the shop every evening, and he would be passing at nine.
Up to this point Lavinia had thought of David as nothing more than an
errand boy. But as she sat by the window in the gathering dusk, he
began to change before her fevered eyes, to assert his height and the
grace of his strong young hands. She had never thought about David’s
hands before. Strange that the hard work had never rendered them
unshapely. Calvin’s hands were pudgy, the fingers short and thick. She
had always been conscious of Calvin’s hands--had viewed them almost
with repugnance even when she craved their touch the most.
David’s smile was beautiful. He would grow into a fine-looking man,
like his father. Now that they had taken to refinishing antique
furniture, there would be money in the shop for two households. David
would always be kind. He might even.... What was she thinking! A
startled laugh burst from her lips. Davy, little Davy Trench! With a
suppressed, “Huh! I might go farther and fare worse,” she tossed the
absurd thought aside. A moment later it presented itself in another
guise. She was still toying with the audacious intruder when she heard
David’s slow, regular step on the stone flagging. Through the open
window she called his name. With nervous haste she lighted the tall,
flamboyantly shaded piano lamp and motioned him to a chair. Then she
seated herself rather stiffly on the old-fashioned sparking settee, her
heart pounding, her tongue thick and useless.
“Was there something I could do for you, Vine?”
“You wouldn’t--mind--going back to the post office, Dave? I want to
get off an important letter to my uncle. He wants me to come out to
Illinois, and--there isn’t a stamp in the house.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t send it to-night. The post office was closed
when I came by, and the last mail goes up to Rochester at half-past
eight. If you had only told me sooner.... I’ll be glad to stop by and
get it in the morning, on my way to the shop.”
“Oh, well, it’s not so urgent. I’ll have it ready before breakfast. You
won’t forget to stop?”
“Why, of course not, Vine.”
“David, would you be sorry if I should go away from Bromfield--to stay?”
“It wouldn’t be Bromfield without you.”
Lavinia Larimore took the bit in her teeth.
“Dave, what do you think Ellen Porter was saying to me when you came to
the store, this afternoon?”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“She said it was all over town that you and I are going to be married.”
“I--” The boy gasped. He gripped the edge of his chair and the blood
died out of his cheeks. “Vine, you oughtn’t to make fun of me that way.
It isn’t kind.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, Davy. Honest to goodness, everybody has
noticed how much we have been together lately.”
“But Calvin?”
“Pooh! I broke off with him long ago. Dave, are you asleep, that you
don’t know it is all over between Calvin and me?”
“I--I am afraid I’m dreaming now.”
“No, you aren’t. You are broad awake, and I’m telling you the truth. I
would not marry Calvin Stone if he was the last man left on earth. He
is a low-lived gambler--and I despise him. He isn’t worth your little
finger.”
David slipped from his chair and gained the settee, somehow, his knees
knocking together.
“Vine, do you mean-- Would I be a fool to--” Then his lips found hers.
At midnight David Trench stumbled drunkenly home, his head bumping the
stars, while Lavinia took the two-year-old wedding dress from the cedar
chest and planned to modernize its lines.